


Onward

by ohgodmyeyes



Series: Luke & Kirk [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Coming of Age, Crossover, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Fluffy slash, Hurt/Comfort, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, M/M, Male Slash, Rare Pairings, Really Old & Needs Editing, Slash, Star Trek Slash, Star wars slash, Sweet/Hot, Timeline makes no sense but I want to see these guys interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-11-08 06:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: A young, Jedi-in-training named Luke Skywalker connects by chance with a brave and handsome starship captain who goes by Jim Kirk.Their time together following Luke’s performance during the infamous Battle of Yavin is chaotic and limited, but between brief interludes, they forge an intimate connection that neither of them is likely to ever forget.**Complete. I’m crying.**





	1. LUKE!

Luke Skywalker sighed into his drink. Around him, creatures of all kinds— and a few droids— made merry; laughing, talking, some even dancing. He had situated himself in the darkest corner of the busiest, loudest bar he could find. It had been mere weeks since the battle of Yavin, and since Luke had received recognition for his part in destroying the Empire’s evil Death Star, he’d barely had a moment’s peace.

It was not that he was ungrateful for the appreciation— he certainly didn’t resent it, not really. Anyway, it was not in the young near-Jedi’s nature to harbour resentment. It was more a hunger; a very simple craving for just a little bit of quiet. Silence, in his mind, through which he could process the flurry of events that had led to him becoming one of the most talked-about people in this part of the galaxy.

So, in spite of the noise and chatter; tapping and music, Luke basked exhaustedly in his much sought-after evening of anonymity. He put his glass to his lips and peered around himself, and he was relieved not to see a single familiar face.

Familiar face... Luke suddenly wished he hadn’t let the phrase invade his thoughts, as immediately, his mind’s eye crafted a detailed portrait of his late friend, Biggs Darklighter. Luke’s lips pursed and his brow furrowed as he thought about countless dusty afternoons they had spent together, laughing and riding their speeders through the expansive Tatooine desert. He recalled chilly evenings tucked underneath blankets in his Aunt’s tidy courtyard; they would watch stars, play games, and talk about their dreams.

Those dreams... they had each achieved them in their own way, but only Luke had lived to tell the stories. 

He took another drink from his glass, determined to push away memories of Biggs; to prevent bitterness from seeping into his mind and marring his thoughts. He had too much to be proud of— and too much to look forward to, he was sure— to allow his thinking to spiral darkly. Another drink, before he began to miss Old Ben’s advice, too. He was not here to celebrate, or mourn, or reminisce... just to sit and be silent for a while. 

As if to mock that last thought, the front door to the tavern burst suddenly and violently open. All at once, six armed humanoid creatures, all large and masked, were ransacking the establishment; attempting to shake down for currency anyone within their reach. 

Reluctantly, but naturally, Luke was on his feet in seconds. A bright blue blade of energy surged from the hilt of his lightsaber, and in no time, three of the bandits were on the floor clutching severe burns. The frenzied crowd around them was either trying to escape, or gather their currencies, and Luke was suddenly very grateful for what little lightsaber training Ben had been able to impart before his passing.

Wasting no time, Luke whipped around to take care of the rest of the gang— only to find them already felled. They were immobile, and seemingly unconscious, but somehow not visibly injured. Confused, he lifted his gaze to look straight ahead and quickly identified the source of his assistance.

Another man was standing next to an overturned stool at the opposite end of the bar; he had a weapon drawn that Luke could not identify. The arm holding it was outstretched; the other bent at the elbow with the hand closed into a fist. His feet took a wide stance and the look on his face was of calm intensity. Luke exhaled, lowered his weapon, and tried to catch the man’s eye, but before he could do it, something he’d been desperately trying to avoid happened all at once—

“LUKE!” A pointing finger.

“Is it...?” Eyes and necks craning to see.

“It is!” A hand on one of his shoulders, then one on his back.

“It’s LUKE SKYWALKER!” And finally pandemonium, or at least it was to Luke, who until recently had been used to neighbours being few and far between.

A flurry of hands and faces enveloped the poor young pilot; offers abounded to buy him drinks and food, and at least one high-pitched voice begged him to come away. It all amounted to a cacophonous ruckus as Luke looked around, mouth agape but words absent. This was exactly what he had been trying so hard to avoid when he’d slinked off for his evening alone; he’d just wanted a moment’s peace...

Then, just as suddenly, a hand gripping his arm; stronger than the others. It tugged, gently at first and then a bit harder, until Luke was reefed nearly off his feet and out of the throng of admirers. A collective groan rose from the group, but attention inside the bar quickly returned to the incapacitated thieves on the floor.

Finally, Luke was standing outside in the evening air, skin cooling and breathing beginning to slow. At last able to focus on what was in front of him, he noticed his rescuer had been that same man— the man who had disabled half the gang before he’d had a chance to spin around.

The man let go of Luke’s arm, then put out a hand— broad and smooth and very strong— and squeezed Luke’s own palm firmly. 

Eyes now fully focused, the young masterless apprentice realized he was staring into a wide, firm chest. It was swathed in dull gold and interrupted only by a badge with a foreign, yet vaguely military-looking insignia. He took a step back and looked ahead to see a face— strong-jawed and brown-eyed— smiling confidently. A wisp of sandy hair fell onto the stranger’s forehead, and as he reached up wth his free hand to correct it, he said in a silt-smooth voice, “Jim Kirk, USS Enterprise.”

Luke squeezed back, and responded, “Luke.” A pause, then, “Um, Skywalker. Thanks— for your help in there.”

“Think nothing of it, Luke Skywalker.” His smile was unwavering. “You were fairly impressive yourself— what kind of weapon did you use?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Luke answered as he touched his fingers to the hilt of the object hanging at his side. “This... is a lightsaber. It belonged to my father; I only just started learning how to use it.” 

Jim leaned down to look at it a bit more closely. “Light... saber? How do you use it? Is it a plasma weapon?”

“Well—“ Luke began, but before he could say anything, one of the more insectoid-looking bar patrons stumbled out of the tavern’s doors and pointed.

“I FOUND HIM! He’s out here!” He gestured to the crowd inside, “I found Luke! Come see!” 

With desperate exasperation, Luke looked around, settling his gaze on his new acquaintance. Jim looked behind them, nodded at Luke, and took hold of his arm once again. This time, he dragged the smaller man across the building’s facade and into a narrow alley. Once there, Luke witnessed Jim take a small, foreign object out from his pocket and flip it open. Then, to someone Luke could not see—

“Scotty! Two to beam up!”


	2. Welcome

The Captain let out a breath as the warm, familiar tingle of the transporter beam dissipated around him. He was still holding the arm of the boy from the bar, and as their forms came into view, he made sure the smaller man was steady on his feet before letting go.

In front of the duo stood two of Kirk’s crewmen: Lieutenant Scott, operating the transporter; and Dr. McCoy, because the captain had brought aboard a surprise guest.

Jim stepped down from the pad, held out a hand, and motioned for Luke to follow. He did, looking wide-eyed at the sleek surroundings.

“Luke... Skywalker, was it?” With a subtle-but-present air of pride, Jim placed a hand on the transporter’s control panel.”Welcome aboard my starship, the USS Enterprise. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you more formally.”

“Oh, that’s fine...” Luke’s voice trailed off, his eyes distracted. He’d only been on two large starships in his life, to his knowledge, and this one exuded neither the homey chaos of the Millennium Falcon, nor the foreboding darkness of the Death Star. It was clean, tidy, white, and grey— very sparse, save for occasional pops of colour in the form of technical diagrams and complex panels. 

Captain Kirk had taken all kinds of guests onto his ship unexpectedly before, and he was familiar with their anxieties— so, before Luke could ask, he said, “We’re still orbiting the planet we beamed off off; I just thought you could use a little break from whatever all of that... melodrama was about.”

“Oh, that...” Luke turned his attention away from his surroundings and back to Jim. “It’s a long story. I was a pilot; I helped win a big battle... the war isn’t really over yet, but it just happened, and everyone is still pretty... excited, I guess.” He half-smiled; shrugged his shoulders. 

Jim sensed that his guest was, perhaps, not ready to talk extensively about his exploits yet. “Well, you can’t blame them, can you? If your performance in that tavern down there was any indication, I’m sure you were simply brilliant.” He flashed a quick grin, then motioned to his crewmen. “Behind the controls here is my chief engineer, Lieutenant Scott; and next to him, our very talented Doctor McCoy.”

“Just stand still and let me scan you with my tricorder. I need to check you for contaminants,” said the doctor abruptly. He wore a blue shirt, just like the Captain’s, save for colour, and an identical badge and insignia. His eyes were icy, and his hair a rich brown. “The Captain is always bringing guests on board without consulting me first.”

Scott smiled, and Jim laughed outright. “Come now, Bones! This man was under attack! Weren’t you?” He looked to Luke, who was finally just comfortable enough to crack a tiny grin of his own. 

“That’s right! They’d have killed me, if your Captain hadn’t dragged me away!” Then, less disingenuously, “I’m sorry for the trouble, Doctor.”

As Dr. McCoy ran his instrument up and down Luke’s slight form— finding nothing abnormal— he looked at Kirk and said, mildly exasperated, “It’s nothing.”

“Good,” replied Jim, satisfied. 

Bones rolled his eyes and exited the room as Scotty stepped out from behind the control panel. He put a friendly hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Could I perhaps interest you and the Captain in joining me for a drink of something special?” He looked to the young Force-user. “I have some old rum I’ve been saving just for a war hero.”

Luke looked at the kind, red-clad engineer and smiled sheepishly. “Well, sure— my original plan blew up anyhow, and it’s a lot nicer up here so far than it was down there.”

“Perfect!” Jim put his hands together, and led the way out of the transporter room.

Soon, Luke was standing with Lieutenant Scott and the Captain in a long, welcoming observation corridor. Each man held a generous glass of rum in his hands.

“This part of the galaxy certainly is beautiful,” Scotty said to no one in particular as he sipped his special drink.

Kirk leaned on the railing in front of the large window and gazed out at the twinkling points of light spread out before them. “Yes, but you know we can’t hang around here for long.”

“Why’s that?” Luke piped up. He never had seen uniforms quite like these, or a ship quite like the Enterprise. He was curious as to what it was doing there.

The Captain turned to Luke. “Well, we’re here by accident, really. We swerved to avoid a huge debris field that turned out to be a trap. We got sent off-course at a very high speed, and the ship was damaged in the process. I was in that bar to barter for some parts to fix it— I’ll have to go back down tomorrow to close the deal and gather our materials.” He looked back to the starfield, smiling. “You’re welcome to stay here on the Enterprise as my guest until we leave, Luke.”

Surprised and somewhat impressed, Luke simply replied, “Thanks,” as he enjoyed the warmth of the Lieutenant’s rum slithering down his throat. It expanded in his stomach, and spread out to his fingertips. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before, and he was feeling about as peaceful as he had all night— or all month, for that matter. 

Just then, Luke heard the door at the end of the corridor slide open gently. He sighed contentedly, simply glad to hear no urgency in the motion. He had not been here long, but it was indeed infinitely easier to feel relaxed on Jim’s starship than it had been anywhere on the busy planet below— in particular, that bar. Of course, Lieutenant Scott’s rum was certainly helping. 

“Captain!” A voice, low and deliberate. Luke turned his head to see two more of what he presumed were members of his new acquaintance’s crew. One was a tall, thin man with dark eyes and elegantly pointed ears; he was the source of the voice. The other was a young woman with an intricate updo, and smooth skin the colour of rich coffee. They both wore uniforms similar to their counterparts, except the woman’s was in the form of a sharp, short red dress. 

Jim turned as well, greeted the pair happily, then motioned to them. “Luke, this is Lieutenant Uhura, my communications officer; along with my second-in-command here on the ship, Mr. Spock.” Spock nodded politely, and Uhura extended a hand out to Luke.

He took it, and said, “Luke Skywalker.”

Before any more words could be spoken, Spock mentioned pointedly, “Captain, don’t you think it is perhaps a bit late for guests?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever do you mean, Spock?” He used the same velvety voice he’d used to introduce himself at the bar.

“Well, Sir, Lieutenant Uhura and myself have just come off of shift change on the bridge—“

“Yes!” Uhura interrupted. “In fact, Sir, I’d love to stay and get to know your guest, but I’m afraid I just have to go to bed.”

Spock nodded. “That would be advisable, Captain— although I, too, am pleased to meet your new guest.” He looked Luke up and down briefly, then turned with Uhura to continue out the corridor.

Kirk called out good-nights after them; Uhura turned to wave, and soon the pair had left to their respective quarters.

Scotty placed his empty glass on the railing in front of them, and stretched his arms widely. “You know, Sir, I didn’t realize it, but I think those two might be right. I ought to be turning in soon, myself.” He looked at his commanding officer expectantly. 

“Ah— no worries, Scotty— you’ve been a fine host. You may retire to your quarters.”

The engineer smiled, jostled Luke on the shoulder in a friendly way, and turned around to leave.

Before he was gone, Luke called out, “Thanks for the drink! I’ve never had anything like it.” He gave a relaxed, slightly lopsided smile that made Scotty chuckle before finally exiting through the gliding double doors.

Alone now with Jim Kirk, the starfield, and a last sip of rum, Luke closed his eyes and let another quiet breath escape his lips.

“Feeling a bit better now?” Jim touched Luke’s arm briefly, and the younger man opened his eyes.

“Yeah, much better— thanks for having me up here.”

“I can take you back to the surface tomorrow when I make my supply run— but for now, I just want you to relax a bit. From the sound of things, you’ve earned it.”

Luke laughed softly and hung his head. It was starting to feel heavy to him; although he was plenty relaxed, it was perhaps a bit too much, and he suddenly felt a little unsteady on his feet.

Jim noticed this, and placed an almost protective arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Come— we can sit down in my quarters, and you can tell me about that plasma weapon you’re so proficient with.” He guided Luke gently away from the railing, leaving the empty glasses behind. Slowly but surely, they made their way down the hall.

As they did, Luke pressed his head into the side of Jim’s chest and mumbled, “It’s a lightsaber...”

While the two exited, Doctor McCoy— and a young blonde woman dressed in a shade of blue to match his own— happened to be entering the observation deck through the other end of the hallway. Just before the doors through which Luke and Jim were walking slid shut, Bones managed to glimpse the firmness with which the boy pressed himself into the older commander. The Captain took no notice of them; indeed, McCoy and Nurse Chapel only caught a glance at the men as they wandered off.

This, however, was enough for the Doctor to raise his eyebrow and look at his aide with a crooked smirk. “Is it just me, or does that boy seem to you to be just another small, young blonde enamoured with our Captain?”

The nurse, eyeing the now closed doors, said, “Doctor, I wouldn’t presume to know, and neither should you.”

Bones let out a huff, but smiled self-assuredly anyhow as he and Chapel continued on to the Medical Bay to perform their duties. He would only have to observe Jim and Luke when they finally parted to confirm his intuition; and anyway, as always, he had more important matters to attend to right now. 

There was no trace of Luke or Jim on the other side of the doors by the time he made his way down the hallway with his nurse, but he did— correctly— presume that they were already well on their way to the Captain’s quarters.


	3. Farm Boy

Warmer than he could remember being since he left Tatooine, and well-supported by Jim’s strong arm, Luke felt as though he was virtually gliding down the series of hallways leading to the Captain’s quarters. Once inside, the doors slid shut behind them, and the commander gingerly deposited his guest in a low, comfortable chair with a rounded back and a plush seat.

Luke was exceedingly relaxed (and perhaps feeling the effects of Lieutenant Scott’s rum more than he’d expected), but being set down roused him a little bit. He sat up taller, and reopened his eyes. A chill, brief and minor, came over him as he observed this newest set of tidy surroundings. His body had certainly appreciated being so near to the Captain’s warmth; in fact, it was the most contact he’d had with another human outside of a battle since...

“Biggs...” Luke mumbled and shut his eyes briefly.

“Hm?” Jim had been turned in the direction of the replicator, from which he produced a tall glass of water. He set it on a small table in front of Luke’s chair, then sat down himself in one just like it, positioned opposite the younger man.

“Nothing...” Luke leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. He reached for the glass with a half-steady hand. “Thanks.” He took a sip of water and looked at Jim’s face as he replaced the glass on the table. He once again felt at ease, as the most recent wave of grief at all he’d lost receded into the sea of his mind. There was something about being in the Captain’s presence that made him feel less stiff and guarded; recently, he’d been feeling quite stiff and guarded indeed. He simply stared for a moment at the kind, admittedly rather captivating face before him... and then a spark of remembrance drew his hand to his side.

He unclipped his lightsaber from the belt fastened around his tunic, and held it out in front of him. He was really in no condition to use it, but Jim had seemed so interested; he figured it would do no harm to just show him how it worked.

He pressed the button, careful to aim the top of the hilt safely up toward the ceiling. Soft, warm, blue light emanated reliably, and bathed Luke’s face in its glow. He smiled at his weapon, proud of it and its significance to him. 

The commander was at first taken aback at how quickly Luke was able to activate the formidable blade— and then his young guest’s face, immersed in gentle cerulean, took hold of his attention instead.

He was barely out of his teens, if that. However, something behind his eyes betrayed—if not yet wisdom— then certainly a depth of concern and sense of duty. Jim was intimately familiar with both of these. He could also vividly remember being just about Luke’s age, and understood that the man before him had experienced the carnage of war with much more suddenness and prematurity than he had. He knew nothing of Luke’s battle (or battles), but he knew the nature of war, and as he studied the softly lit young face before him, a sense of admiration swelled.

Luke had noticed the Captain’s staring by this point, but had presumed the bulk of his gaze to be on the blade— so, he made the beam retreat, and held the handle out toward Jim. He was sure to leave the button facing up, so the commander would know just what to do.

The lack of hesitance he showed in handing over his precious weapon surprised even Luke himself, but at this realization he felt no reluctance. He certainly had his very generous and very recent drink to thank, partially, for his lack of inhibition. However, even in this rather fuzzy state, he knew with confidence that his host was trustworthy. More than that, he seemed honourable and kind as well. Between the immediacy with which he’d assisted Luke on the surface, the way his crew liked and respected him; and, indeed, the warmth and strength with which he’d carried Luke here and set him down... 

Well, certainly Luke would not begrudge such a fine man the opportunity to ignite a lightsaber for the first time.

A look of incredulity flitted briefly over Jim’s face before he reached out to carefully grasp the intricate-looking handle. He ran his fingers over the bumps and grooves— it was certainly very technologically advanced, but it exuded an energy; a warmth, that an object such as Jim’s own phaser did not. 

He stood up with it, watching Luke watch him. He extended his arm, and with a combined twinge of nervousness and fascination, pressed his thumb down on the button.

He could not help but smile broadly as the weapon lit up for him just as it had for its owner. He could both feel and hear it humming softly in his hand; it was so bright before his eyes that the entire rest of the room seemed darker.

He was taking so much delight from the lightsaber that he forgot himself for a moment— suddenly he was back at Starfleet Academy, in his elective fencing class. Except, instead of a thin metal sword, he was prodding and thrusting at the air in front of him with something truly magnificent.

Luke leaned back in his chair and watched as the Captain became lost in handling his weapon. He thought to himself that he might like, at some point, to try out Jim’s blaster— the one that left invisible injuries— but that thought was fleeting as a fresh wave of relaxation washed over him. Calm, for Luke, had become so infrequent as of late that every time he felt it, he noticed, and was grateful.

The commander dared to spin, almost as Luke had in the tavern, and then skillfully slashed high up in the air. Luke’s eyes involuntarily flashed from the broad outline of his host’s chest to linger next on slivers of back and stomach exposed by the sweeping motions. He did not notice that the smile on his own face had been replaced by an expression of awe, until Jim stopped abruptly. He deactivated the blade, and handed it back to its owner with a sheepish grin.

“Ah... I’m sorry,” he said, “I got carried away.” The same short, sandy strand of hair came out of place of on his head, as it had when he’d introduced himself. He corrected it and sat back down in his chair as Luke retrieved his lightsaber.

“It’s okay— you’re really good.” The Captain’s show now over, Luke broke back into a smile; if his cheeks had at all turned pink, he did not notice it himself— and if Jim had noticed, he had most likely written it off as a side-effect of being tipsy.

“I took some lessons— sword lessons— in school, a long time ago. I only wish I’d been allowed to use something like that,” Jim said as he motioned to Luke’s hand.

“Well—“ Luke thought, and chucked. “It comes with a bit of baggage, I guess.” Instead of clipping it back onto his belt, he placed the saber on the table beside his water; hand wavering slightly. 

“What kind? Of baggage, I mean. If you don’t mind my asking.” Jim leaned in toward his guest.

Luke had placed his hands on his knees, but his gaze remained on the hilt of his blade. “Like I said, it used to belong to my father. I want to learn to use it the way he did, but he was killed. He had an old friend who was teaching me, but he was killed too, and—“ He stopped, took a deep breath, and slowed his speech, “—and the man who killed them is too powerful for me to fight. So, I’ll learn.” He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked back up at Jim. “It’s a long story.” Luke was still smiling, but his smile had thinned. 

“That’s alright. You don’t have to tell it now.” The commander could tell that Luke was not as accustomed as he was to being treated to Scotty’s stash, nor did he seem especially used to talking about himself. The boy was wilting, and underneath empathy and a little bit of guilt for having gotten him into this state, some other feeling was welling up inside the Captain. The admiration from earlier mixed with a new affection that flowed easily toward Luke. His youth and skill, combined with his still mysterious exploits, made him extremely interesting to Jim. Aside from that, he’d always had an eye for a certain kind of beauty that he was quickly coming to realize Luke possessed in spades.

In the time the commander had been staring and contemplating, the younger man’s head had come to settle awkwardly on the chair’s backrest, and his eyes had dropped nearly shut. Wisps of soft, tangled blonde hair fell over parts of his face, and smooth skin across his cheeks was still tinged pink. Sweet, bow-like lips parted softly in a quiet sigh as Luke continued to fade; this prompted the Captain to rise.

He drew in a breath and stood, bending himself over. With a bit of maneuvering and a gentle grunt, the smaller man was in his arms, feet hanging lazily and head lolling into Jim’s strong chest. 

It was not a far walk to the bed, low and comfortable. The commander dropped Luke as gently as he could onto it (which was quite gently; there was little real weight to the boy), and sat down himself on the edge.

As soon as he broke their contact, he felt a cooler and slightly smaller hand grip his own. It squeezed with an unexpected neediness, and with very little hesitation, Jim not only squeezed back, but also used his free hand to cover the pair’s now clasped extremities. Luke groaned, and forced his eyes to open a little bit.

Liquor still swirling inside him, tiredness setting in, and the comforting familiarity of having his hand enveloped by another all merged at once to create an effect that was overwhelming. Before he could stop it; indeed, before he really noticed it happening, hot tears started to fall from the corners of his eyes. They flowed freely down the side of his face, caught in his hair, and even pooled briefly in his ear before falling noiselessly to stain Jim’s bedsheets. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but the stream continued until he had begun to sob.

This was when he felt the Captain lift his hand; then suddenly, a now-familiar pull on his arm. Except this time, instead of tugging him out of a crowd or onto a starship, Jim was pulling him into a tight embrace, squeezing him hard between protective, strong arms.

Luke stiffened his back at first, but that response was brief, and it did not take long for him to reach up and wrap his own arms around his gracious host in return. He clenched his fingers tightly into Jim’s back as heavy sobs wracked his slight frame.

This continued; for how long, the commander could not gauge. He simply held his new friend until the young man was still— heaving turned to shivering until Luke’s breathing finally slowed and most of his trembling ceased. Only his fingers moved now, digging sharply into muscled flesh, as if to beg,_ “Please do not pull away from me; please, not yet.”_

Adept at reading body language, Jim obliged, and with an only slightly tentative hand, he touched the back of Luke’s head and began to stroke his hair. Plainly, he said, “It’s alright.”

A deep breath, followed by Luke’s grip finally loosening, although he neither looked up nor let go of the Captain completely.

Jim ran his fingers through the soft blonde mop, and continued, “Years from now, you’ll look back on this time and be proud— not only of what you’ve done, but because of what you’ve lost, too. It will have made you a great man— I see it in you.” 

After what felt like a very long moment, Luke pulled his head away from the commander’s chest, arms still slung sloppily around his back. He looked up through bleary eyes and stray strands of hair at the utterly unjudgemental face gazing down at him. He should feel ashamed of himself, he thought— for having let a virtual stranger see this much of him; of his pain. Anyway, he knew that giving himself over to displays of strong emotion was not the way of a Jedi Knight— Obi-Wan would surely have shaken his head.

Somehow, though, that did not matter to him; not at this moment, not on this starship. Although floating well within orbit of what had become normal and familiar to Luke, here on the Enterprise he felt lightyears away from all of it. In Jim’s arms, he was much closer to farm boy than Master of the Force. Something deep inside of him craved that domesticity desperately— however short-lived it had to be— and he knew it really was alright. 

The Captain, more than at ease with providing comfort, smiled calmly down at Luke. He admired his watery eyes— almost the same colour as his weapon, Jim noticed— and tear-streaked skin. Without thinking, he took his hand off of his young guest’s head and used his index finger to trace a gentle line down Luke’s angular jaw until it came to rest on a sweet, tiny dimple at the centre of his chin.

This was when Jim was the one to feel a pull— Luke, tugging at the back of his neck, drawing him down. He understood immediately, using his finger to tilt that handsome chin upward until, softly, their lips met.

Luke closed his eyes and sighed gratefully into the Captain’s kiss. Their lips parted briefly, and he removed his arms from around Jim’s back, using his hands to tug instead at the front of his sweater. He drew the commander close, then slowly coaxed him into a supine position.

Laying together now, they resumed their contact— hands stroked hair, and lips and tongues danced languidly together until Jim noticed that Luke was, once again, nearly asleep. He stopped kissing, but continued to stroke the younger man’s blonde tangles, and the soft, smooth skin on his face.

Before long, Luke really was asleep; curled close to the Captain, breathing evenly into his chest as a pair of capable arms cradled him as protectively as they had all night.

Jim knew that he had to leave Luke to his own devices again, back on the surface of that planet— and he knew that when he did, the beautiful boy with the fascinating weapon would fare quite well. The commander was not so foolish as to think that tears were a sign of weakness— rather, the strength of Luke’s feelings had bolstered his admiration for him; indeed, had made him want to take Luke into his arms and kiss him. He would certainly be fine— but for now, Jim knew that what his guest truly needed was this: an affectionate companion, and a pair of strong arms. 

Captain James Kirk was very good at being just those things, and if he could make this young man feel safe enough— just for now— perhaps moving toward the future would not be as difficult for him as it had to be.

The commander fell asleep eventually too; as hours ticked by and the two men slept quietly, Luke dreamed— both of times past, and of times still yet to come. He’d not gotten much time alone, but he was at peace, if only for right now. His night had turned out neither the way he’d expected, nor the way he’d intended— but it had given him something he had needed, and had needed desperately.


	4. Breakfast

Luke heaved his eyes open with a groan— and squeezed them shut again immediately as they reacted to the light in the room. It was not too much brighter than it had been the night previously, but it certainly seemed so to him. His head throbbed dully and his eyes stung. He’d never had a drink like the one Lieutenant Scott had offered him, and he hadn't anticipated these kinds of after-effects. He sat up anyway as he rubbed the side of his head and tried to remember how he had come to fall asleep in what he presumed was the Captain's bed... 

Then, he saw his lightsaber, sitting across the room on the small table where he'd left it. An image flashed through his mind: Jim, weilding Luke's own weapon. But there hadn't been a fight... _Oh!_ Luke's face flushed anew as he remembered watching the commander spin and thrust into the air. For whatever reason, the slivers of skin he'd peeked at, and the bashful look on the Captain as he had handed back the blade, both featured heavily in his memory.

He widened his eyes deliberately, trying to get them more used to the light. Then he adjusted his badly-rumpled tunic, which was a fruitless effort while seated— in his sleep, it had shifted virtually sideways— so he left the garment alone, and instead moved to swing his legs off the side of the bed. He was not yet ready to stand, but he wanted to give the appearance of being so, in case Jim returned from wherever he was. ...Where was he, anyway? _He was here when I fell asleep, wasn’t he...?_

Luke looked all around the room, as neat and sparse as he remembered the rest of the ship being. The Captain certainly wasn't here, so Luke— fine with having a moment to nurse the sensation lingering behind his eyes— continued to sit and piece together his memories from his time on the Enterprise so far.

He remembered arriving in the room with the transporter-- that had been pretty interesting, in retrospect. He remembered walking off to the observation area; meeting some people, briefly... enjoying both the view, and the sensation brought on by Scotty's rum... and then, things got a little bit hazy. He breathed deeply and stretched his arms as he turned it all over in his brain.

He did feel lucky to have run into Jim— he had been kind and welcoming in a way that Luke really did not expect strangers to be. He let his mind wander back to the images he could recall most vividly— the graceful sword-play, exposed fragments of skin, a smile that looked as warm as hot sand, salty tears and gentle kisses... _Wait, what?_ Luke looked back down at the spot where he’d been laying, and tried to conjure a picture in his mind; a picture of himself falling asleep there. He could remember his body being very warm— and his face wet. He furrowed his brow briefly, and all at once it was as though a flashbulb had burst, shooting fast-moving stills through his slowly-waking mind— being absolutely weightless; crying first for Biggs, then simply crying; being held; being kissed... actually feeling better... no, he wasn’t imagining that.

Giving into the room’s light for a moment, he closed his eyes again as he sat and tried to think. First, the electric panic of guilt, borne of betrayal... but that was brief— Biggs was dead; he was not waiting for Luke on any far-flung Rebel base. Nor was Luke waiting in his family’s little courtyard to hear Biggs pull up nearby on his speeder. Remembering this had stung Luke in the heart like a dart every day since Yavin, and today was no different. He wished he’d had something— something of Biggs that he could touch or grasp when he felt like this— but those artifacts of his former life had all been destroyed. He now had himself, his weapon, his allies, and his future; those things were all he needed, and he drew strength from that knowledge.

Of course, last night he’d also had Captain Kirk’s attention— and arms; and apparently mouth, too, if he was remembering correctly. He moved to stand up; he was not his usual sure-footed self, but he was more than steady enough by now to pace across the room. He stood by the table and looked at his lightsaber as he reflected on having been kissed and held in bed by someone other than the only person he knew who could do those things. He had been so close to Biggs for so, so long— their connection had been natural and they’d never needed to define it for anyone, because it had simply always been there. 

Luke was realizing quickly, however, that the exclusivity of that connection— and the lack of definition— had left him without language to describe the moments he had shared with Jim, making him feel strange. Never having wanted anyone but Biggs to have him that way, he had never ventured to think of anyone else in the entire galaxy that might. He had also never wanted anyone but Biggs that way; never thought he would be sneaking glances at anyone else’s exposed skin, or pressing his lips into anyone else’s sympathetic mouth. He had never considered who or what he might appreciate in that way, other than Biggs... but, he supposed if he was going to be attracted to someone living, a starship Captain who needed to leave soon was as good a person as any. 

Obi-Wan had given him (with very little context, to Luke’s frustration) strong advice against romantic connections— Biggs had not lived long enough for Luke to consider what that might mean for them; but for he and Jim, it meant that the transient nature of their connection was likely for the better. He sighed audibly at all of this without really realizing it as he straightened his tunic and picked up his weapon. 

His back was toward the door, and as he clipped his lightsaber to his belt, a noise startled him out of his own head. He turned to look for the source of it, and saw that Captain Kirk had finally re-entered the room. He was shirtless after, presumably, a shower; clad in black pants, with a towel slung around his neck. It was just barely hiding the better part of his chest and stomach, which was gracious. Luke could, in spite of his light hangover and still-heavy grief, feel heat rising in his face as his eyes lingered on what the towel didn’t conceal. 

“You’re awake!” He smiled, genuinely happy to see Luke up and about. “I’m sorry I let Scotty pour you such a tall one last night.” Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder, still holding one end of the towel with the other. Then, in a more gentle tone, “How are you feeling?” 

Luke smiled, eyes still tinged with sadness, but he was grateful for the question and happy to have Jim back in the room with him. “I’m fine...” Very briefly, he touched the commander’s hand— the one on Luke’s own shoulder— and squeezed the fingers tightly. “Thanks. For everything, I mean.”

Jim leaned in, and so quickly as to make Luke question whether he’d really done it, pressed his lips warmly against the boy’s forehead. Then, he turned his back to Luke to retrieve a sweater hanging from a hook on the wall. Smoothly, he cast the towel aside and slipped into his uniform shirt; by the time he turned back around, he looked just as he had when Luke had first seen him blast the bandits at the crummy tavern. 

“Are you ready to beam back down to the surface? I thought you might still like to accompany me while I pick up the supplies I arranged for.” Then, a light tapping from the other side of the door. “Oh...” The Captain turned and had them slide open; in the corridor was a young blonde woman— a different one, in red this time— holding a tray of what Luke gratefully recognized as food. “This is late, Yeoman.”

“I’m sorry, Sir— I wasn’t informed of your guest until this morning.” She stole a glance behind Kirk’s frame and took a curious look at the young man in white standing in the commander’s room. He was bleary-eyed and bed-headed; looking slightly confused. Who was he? “Here is some food for him. Lieutenant Scott is ready to beam you both down whenever you’re ready.”

“It’s alright. Thank you, Yeoman.” Jim nodded and took the tray from her; the doors closed as they turned away from one another. Looking again at Luke, the Captain held out the food. Luke took it from him, and sat down in the same chair in which he’d faded the night before.

“Thanks for this, too—“ He looked at the food on the tray. There was something that looked like eggs, something that looked like the bread his aunt used to make, and something else that looked like the plants she used to grow in her courtyard garden. He’d mostly eaten rations from Han’s ship and Rebel supply stores recently, and was pleased to have something not only familiar, but actually appetizing. “—but where did it come from? Do you grow food on this ship?”

Kirk chuckled; he was used to that one. “Not exactly. We have replicator technology. The molecular structure of food from all over the galaxy is programmed into it. I hope I made a correct guess— on what you’d find acceptable to eat, I mean. Those eggs are particularly good after too much of a nice drink.”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, you guessed right, then. It’s fine— great. It looks like something my aunt would have made at home...” His voice trailed off as he said that last word, but he put the tray on the table in front of him and started to eat anyhow. He had never been especially thrilled with living on Tatooine, but as he sat in Jim’s quarters eating food that tasted like home— with someone whose embrace also felt very familiar— he found he nearly missed it.

“Well, enjoy it, then.” The Captain was satisfied that Luke was happy with the choice he’d made. He wanted Luke to feel comfortable while he was here; he didn’t seem used to comfort, exactly, but he did seem to need a bit of it. Jim didn’t mind providing it, either— Luke was good company, even drunk, and he’d piqued the commander’s interest with his vague battle stories. It didn’t hurt that he possessed youthful, blonde beauty and satin-soft lips, either— Jim liked those things, too, and he knew that those features would make it a bit harder to leave his guest behind on the planet below. 

The time for that had not yet come, though. For now, he simply stood and watched Luke eat— a pleasure in itself— while he began to consider the logistics of the mission below. He’d already arranged and handed over a partial payment for the metal alloys and mineral substances that Scotty needed. He was glad to have found some things his engineer could cobble together to get their ship away from this part of the galaxy. He had been grateful to find Luke, but even when he’d been absorbed in his sweet young hero, there had been a nagging feeling in his mind of being displaced— of not belonging. He hoped that Scotty’s work would be quick, so as to rid himself of it.

“Jim?” Luke had stood; was— endearingly, somehow— wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his still-wrinkled tunic. He stepped toward his host, who he noticed was staring at him the same way he had before— when Luke had shown off his weapon. “Sorry for eating so fast— it’s been a while since I had... well, actual food.” The near-Jedi looked at Kirk with eyes that were now more clear. His head felt better, too. He thought briefly, then took hold of the slightly taller man’s fingers; they’d just been hanging loosely at his side, anyway. He squeezed them gently as Jim looked back at him, with warmth Luke knew now to be characteristic of the commander. “It’s nice to have a real breakfast.”

Jim squeezed back, and put his other hand on the small of Luke’s back. He pulled them together; they continued to grasp one another’s fingers as he thought about how he wished they weren’t already behind schedule. He was close enough to the boy that he could kiss his forehead again, so he did, but this time he let his lips linger for longer than he had before. He breathed in the smell of Luke’s hair and closed his eyes for an enjoyable moment.

Then, another tap at the door. Before the Captain could turn to answer it, however, the same young woman who had delivered the food stepped in briskly. She stopped cold at the sight of the Captain embracing his guest, and her face turned red. “I— I’m very sorry, Sir! I assumed—“

One last brief squeeze of Luke’s fingers, and the commander let go of him; turning to his Yeoman. “Nevermind, it’s alright—“ He was not annoyed with her, but he was slightly perturbed at his tender moment with his new friend having been cut short. Such was the nature of a starship Captain’s job, however, so he spoke pleasantly. “—If you could, though, please take my guest’s tray... and inform Lieutenant Scott that we will meet him in the transporter room momentarily.” 

“Um... yes, Sir.” She entered the space, pacing quickly to retrieve the tray from the table. She said nothing more as she exited and the doors slid shut, but as she walked down the corridor, she could not help but smile at the display of affection she’d witnessed. She liked Captain Kirk, and liked for him to be happy— so if this boy could put that familiar spring into the commander’s step for a while, then she liked him, too.

Alone together once again, Jim turned back to Luke. “I suppose we should get set to leave. Are you ready?”

Luke was beaming, with pink cheeks. He’d never been walked in on whilst sharing an embrace like that, and he was both amused and embarrassed. “No— no, not really. But we have to go, don’t we?”

The Captain laughed and nodded. “Neither am I... But, yes— I need my ship back in working condition, so let’s get moving. You can help me navigate that awful bar— as long as your fans have all gone home.” Still smiling, he touched Luke’s shoulder and opened the door to his quarters. Luke followed, and they walked side-by-side down the hallway, on their way to Scotty in the transporter room. 

Luke was reluctant to leave, but looking forward to accompanying Captain Kirk at least long enough to retrieve the supplies for the ship. He knew he had to get back to his own life; he knew he had to study, train, and help his friends keep the Empire at bay. He was eager to do it, too— but he knew that Jim’s sweet embrace and comfortable affection was not something he would be finding again any time soon... so, he held those memories close to his heart as he walked with his starship Captain through the Enterprise, for what he thought was the last time.


	5. Departure

"Ready to go, Captain?" Lieutenant Scott asked from behind the transporter console.

"Yes, Scotty— I shouldn't be too long. I'll be taking Luke back, too. Thank you for helping me welcome him to the ship." Kirk stepped toward the transporter pad, looking it over. 

Luke, who was now standing behind the Captain, piped up cheerfully, "Yeah, thanks— I'll never forget your rum." 

Scotty laughed, "You're welcome. Any time at all, laddie." At that, began to use the control panel to calibrate the pad. "You'll be put down at just about the same spot you came up from last time— is that alright, Sir?"

"Should be, Scotty. Unless Luke has any objections?" He turned to his guest. "You know the place better than I do."

"Not much better," admitted Luke. "Outside the bar should be fine, if that's where the stuff you bought is supposed to be." He took a deep breath, realizing that he could easily have spent more time up here; more time with Jim. _Oh well._

The commander had already stepped up and positioned himself on one of the spots on the pad. He held out a hand to Luke, who took it and stepped up beside him. After waving goodbye to Lieutenant Scott, he looked up and down at the circular spots above his head and beneath his feet. Then, he felt very warm-- and, instantly, the transporter room disappeared from his field of vision.

The next thing both men saw was the outer wall of the grimy tavern where they'd first encountered one another. It somehow looked even worse in full daylight, Luke thought, as he adjusted his eyes. He drew up his shoulders and placed one hand on the hilt of his blade. He looked attentively at his surroundings, and then at Jim. Suddenly, he felt a thin, grey melancholy wash over him. 

He hadn't grown overly attached to the commander, per se, but he could not put aside the distinct feeling that their time together was being cut unduly short. _Or maybe you just want to be held some more._ But so what if he did? His losses were fresh, and they’d come like blaster shots— one right after another; quick, accurate, and most tragic of all, deadly. If anyone deserved to be held a while, it was Luke. 

The time for holding, however, had long since passed. The Captain turned to look at his companion and asked, “What do you say we head inside?”

Luke nodded, and stepped ahead of Jim, hand still touching his weapon. He felt a bit nervous coming back to this exact spot so soon after the two of them had made such a scene. He supposed he could simply go off on his own now; find Han, and leave— but he didn’t. Instead, he led Jim through the doors they’d exited hand-in-arm the night before, and surveyed the tavern.

Much like the outside, the interior looked far worse in the light of day than it had in the hours after twilight. It was, however, virtually empty, much to Luke’s relief. There was a pile of broken wood and nails swept into a corner, and a small number of chairs and stools were conspicuously missing, but there was otherwise no obvious evidence of the attempted ransacking Luke and Jim had halted.

“Captain Kirk!” A booming, wisened voice— unfamiliar to Luke— traveled across the room. It nearly made the younger man leap, but he didn’t betray his jumpiness. Its source was one of the less well-lit corners of the place; in fact, if Luke had chosen the opposite end of the bar the night previous, he’d have been quite close to the seller of the commander’s materials.

Jim and Luke turned together to face the direction of the corner. Although he wasn’t thrilled to be back so soon, Luke did feel more capable with his feet on solid ground. Not to mention, this place— a crummy stopover planet (Or was it a moon? Who even cared!) that Han had picked for refueling— was enough like the slummier parts of Mos Eisley to make him feel more in his element. This confidence drove him to grip his lightsaber’s handle tightly and step ahead of the Captain as they made their way to the back of the room.

As they approached a small table surrounded by haphazardly placed boxes and bags of varying sizes, the man sitting at it came into view. Large, old, humanoid; smoking something (something that did smell familiar to Luke) from a small, intricate pipe that he placed on the table as he saw the pair come closer. He did not rise, but he did turn to face them, and this was when Luke realized that he and the stranger were dressed not unlike one another.

The big, old seller looked past the younger man, directly to Kirk. “Who’s your friend?” Then, addressing Luke with a smirk, “Cold in here, isn’t it?”

Luke spoke up first, “I don’t exactly miss the heat.”

Surprised, the Captain ventured as he stepped up beside his friend, “The two of you know each other?”

Luke shook his head, and the seller laughed as he answered the Captain, “No— but everyone in their right mind leaves Tatooine at some point, don’t they?”

The former farm boy couldn’t help but smile at this. “You know it. You come here to sell stuff?”

“I go back-and-forth. You find things in the desert that people will pay a pretty penny for in overbuilt, over-crowded places like this. Like your companion, and his alloys. Captain Kirk, I trust you have the remainder of my currency?”

“I do— but I’d like to see what I’m getting before I pay you for it,” the commander said as he eyed the packages strewn around the peddler. He fingered the handle of his phaser gingerly; not eager to draw it, but also unafraid. He thought it interesting that this man and Luke seemed to share a homeworld, but he didn’t have time to consider it much now.

“That’s perfectly fair, Captain. Let’s see which of these was supposed to be for you—“ The man bent over in his seat and began to rummage through some of the mid-sized satchels close to his feet. He grabbed one by a long strap, and lifted it above the others. “I believe this is what you’ve come for.” He swung it up by the strap and Jim caught it in the air. He pulled open a clasp at the top and looked inside. He didn’t smile, but he nodded satisfactorily. 

“This looks about right to me— thank you. My engineer couldn’t fix our ship without it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small bundle of cards. Several types of currency were used at stopover planets like these, and Luke couldn’t identify this one. He did wonder how Jim had obtained it in such short time, but then he supposed to himself: Perhaps the replicator that had made him eggs was good for more than just food...

The seller took the notes coolly from the Captain and fanned them out in his hand to count them. Jim slung the bag containing the materials around his shoulder, and as the man nodded to indicate he was pleased with the amount of cash, Luke finally relaxed a bit. He removed his hand from the hilt of his weapon.

Before turning to leave, Jim thanked the seller. After he did, the stranger looked at Luke, and smirked— “See you in the desert sometime?”

Luke smiled dryly, “I really hope not.” Then he turned to follow the commander and they exited the front doors, in much less dramatic fashion than they had the time before.

Once outside, the men turned to face one another. They both stood, still and silent, as their eyes met. Luke nearly sighed, but instead he smiled, and put out a hand. Jim did the same, and grasped the younger man’s palm. Instead of shaking hands, however, he moved to push his fingers between Luke’s so that they were intertwined. His expression was the same one he’d offered after pulling the boy out of the long since dispersed crowd— confident; nothing short of charming— and it served as a somewhat disheartening reminder to them both of the shortness of their time together. 

At this thought, Luke moved to pull his host toward him, when a very loud noise interrupted the moment ungraciously. The doors to the bar shot open behind them, and a very big man— bigger than the one that had sold Captain Kirk his materials, and significantly more formidable— burst out of them, shouting. He ran toward the pair, and before Jim could touch his phaser, he had been clipped roughly in the side of his head by a meaty fist.

Luke jumped back, drawing his blade as fast as lightning while Jim slowly came to his feet after having been knocked clean over. Through a single open eye, he saw Luke ignite his lightsaber and take an aggressive stance.

“What’s wrong with you?!” The young man demanded of their attacker, hands steady and gaze pointed. 

“You! Both of you! You owe me for damages!” The bar owner, Luke was certain.

“We saved you more than we cost you! You were getting robbed!” He didn’t lower his blade, but he moved as close to Jim— now standing but still holding his head— as he could.

“You broke more of my property than they’d have taken! I don’t care if they rob you drunken losers!” The bar owner drew a blaster out of a holster on his belt and brandished it at the pair. Luke considered simply attempting to slice the man’s hand off, but if he didn’t have to cause that much of a commotion, he didn’t want to. The man continued, “Do you hear me, boy? I’m demanding payment!”

“We hear you!” The Captain, finally able to speak up, was solid on his feet again, with a tight hold on his materials— although the side of his head pounded. He put a hand on his phaser, but didn’t draw it. “There’s no need for a fight— if you’ll allow me to return to my ship, I can compensate you for your losses. But, please—“ 

All the angry man seemed to hear were excuses, however. Before Kirk had even finished his proposition, a sharp blast of energy had flown past his head and exploded into a heap of garbage somewhere behind him. The owner shouted, “If you won’t co-operate, I’ll just take what you have myself!” Another blast; this one Luke deflected with his blade, much to Jim’s astonishment.

“Calm down!” Luke shouted, “He’s telling you the truth! If you’ll just—“ A step forward, another blast, and a yell followed by a groan that turned Luke’s stomach to ice. He whipped around to see the Captain once again on the ground; this time immobile, with a smoking wound on the side of his upper left arm.

A blast at Luke’s own head next, which he dodged, before lunging at his attacker and doing just the thing he hadn’t wanted to do.

There was another sickening yell, but one that Luke ignored, as the bar owner fell to the ground— his huge arm, from just below the elbow, was completely missing. He was not bleeding, but he was screaming; his blaster lying useless under the palm of his severed hand. 

Luke retracted his lightsaber’s blade and clipped the hilt speedily back onto his belt. He raced over to Jim, adrenaline flooding his system, and turned the bigger man over to look at his wound. The Captain’s head lolled against Luke’s arm, a groan escaped his throat, and the stench of burnt skin and flesh filled his young friend’s nostrils as the boy tried to think quickly. 

Luke put his hand absently on Jim’s leg as he looked desperately around him and tried to decide what he should do. That was when he felt something inside the commander’s pocket. _Was it...?_ It was— Captain Kirk’s comlink, or whatever it was called by the crew of the Enterprise. Perfect, if Luke could use it.

With fingers that were growing colder and shakier with each passing moment, Luke fumbled to flip the device open. There were two small buttons next to a speaker, and a row of lights, two of which were lit. At an absolute loss for how to use the thing, Luke pushed first one button, then the other. As he began to shout into the device, another large and angry man stormed out of the bar and started to make his way toward his own gravely injured friend— and the man who had injured him. 

Just as Luke thought he would have to leave Jim on the ground to defend them both again, a red light flashed on the communicator’s tiny panel. Luke continued to shout at it, but before he could finish— and before the bar owner’s companion could make it out to where Luke was holding Kirk— a now-familiar sensation spread through his body, and the violent scene before him turned instantly once again to sleek, clean shades of white and grey.


	6. Patience

The same warm tingle dissipated, and along with the rest of Luke's body, a shock of panic in the depths of his gut reformed instantly. He was kneeling on the pad of the transporter with a now-unconscious Captain Kirk draped face-up across his lap. Scotty darted from where he'd been standing behind the control panel, and together they lifted the commander as gently as they could to place him on the floor. He didn't move, and other than his breathing— quick and pained— he made no noise. Scotty looked first at the Captain with fearful concern, and then at Luke with desperate confusion. 

Suddenly, the doors to the room swooshed smoothly open and Dr. McCoy dashed in with Nurse Chapel at his side. Scotty rose to let them tend to Kirk, but Luke stayed kneeling. He looked at the wound on Jim's arm; it was not deep, but the edges were black, the sweater around it had been vaporized, and the cherry-red centre was beginning to ooze dark blood.

Nurse Chapel began to cut the commander's shirt down the centre and along the sleeve of the wounded arm; Luke helped her to remove it, noting somewhat darkly that these were not the circumstances under which he'd liked to have undressed the Captain. _I don't care if I ever see him again after this, just as long as he's okay._

Dr McCoy had removed his tricorder from its case by this point, and was eye-level with Luke now, kneeling on the floor as he worked. Looking up from the blaster injury and to Luke, he asked sharply, "What did you do to him?"

Anger swelled inside the young man, but fear swiftly quelled it— instead of truly shouting, he nearly had to choke out, “Nothing!” He looked at the Doctor with a pleading expression, all at once remembering that he was neither in his own space, nor of any actual use to the injured man he’d just helped beam aboard. “Nothing... It’s a burn, from an energy blaster— can you fix it?”

McCoy looked at Luke first with hot disdain, but seeing the helpless anxiety on his face softened the doctor. “Probably— it’s not deep, at least. Can you help me get him to Sick Bay?”

By this time, tears— of guilt especially; Luke felt responsible for this— were beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes, but he ignored them; repressed them. Instead he forced out one more word, “Yes,” before leaping up to assist Scotty and the Doctor.

In short time, they had Jim laying safely in a bed in the Enterprise’s medical facility— as technologically advanced as anything Luke had ever seen, he noted gratefully. Scotty had wished the Captain well and returned out of necessity to his engineering station with the bag of materials; McCoy and Chapel worked on healing and bandaging him. Luke looked on from out of the way, arms crossed in front of his chest. The commander was still unconscious, but now, it was because of one thing or another that the nurse had administered to him upon arriving. 

By the time they were finished working on him, Luke had steadied his emotions, but still felt a biting sense of responsibility for what had happened to his friend— his friend, who had aided him, welcomed him, held him; even kissed him. Who had been more kind and tender to him than anyone since he had lost Biggs, who was the commander of what (from what Luke could see) was an enormous, malfunctioning starship, with perhaps hundreds of people relying on him in a strange place—

“You— Luke, was it?” The doctor approached him with a considerably more soft expression than he’d had when Jim had first been beamed back aboard. His inclination was to be somewhat dismissive of the boy, but he had clearly assisted the Captain— and seemed to have been as worried about him as any of his most intimate companions would have been.

He met Luke’s eyes; derailing his runaway train of thought, and said, “He’s going to be fine. He has a concussion, and a burn— and he’ll be useless on the Bridge at least until Scotty patches up the ship— but he’ll make a full recovery. I’m going to assume you have his permission to be here until I can run it by Mr. Spock— so go ahead and sit with him. Just be quiet, let him rest, and don’t get him worked up. He’s confined to this room until I say otherwise.” McCoy turned to look at his nurse. “Did you catch all of that?” 

She nodded, “Yes, Doctor.” Then she looked to Luke and said simply, “Thank you.”

Luke just shook his head, overwhelmed and not feeling as though anyone should thank him for anything. He managed a thin smile and stalked gingerly across the medical bay, over to where the Captain lay under a soft, clean, burgundy sheet. There was a stool beside the bed, and he perched on it as he looked Jim over. He was shirtless, blanket pulled half-way up his chest. His arms were exposed, and the injured one sported a thick, white bandage. A bruise had formed on the side of his jaw, but it did not look as bad as Luke had anticipated. Overall, the commander’s condition was much less grave than he’d initially thought— but he was still feeling the after-effects of adrenaline and panic, and he still felt responsible for not taking better care of Jim’s safety on the surface. 

He sighed, and settled on studying his friend’s face, because he wouldn’t leave now, and he couldn’t do anything else. Jim’s head was lolled very slightly to the side, turned in Luke’s direction. He’d been too shy— or, embarrassed or polite, or something else like it— to stare at the commander like this when he knew he could be seen looking. He recalled the lightsaber play that Jim had engaged in; his skill, his delight. He hoped that the starship captain wouldn’t be angry with him when he woke— that thought, and that thought alone, made Luke think for a split second that perhaps he should just ask to be deposited back on the planet below...

...But as his eyes traced the sweet, handsome lines of Jim’s face, he remembered how the bulk of his host’s shoulders and the weight of his chest had felt pressing into him when he’d been crying. He thought of how the silk of his lips and tongue had gently soothed him, and how the heat of his body had warmed him, and decided that even if Jim was furious— even then, he had to stay until the Captain opened his eyes.

As gently as he had ever touched anything in his life, Luke reached out to his friend’s face and felt it with the very tips of his fingers. There was no reaction from the commander; not even a twitch at that point, but Luke took this to mean that he was resting comfortably. He wondered what the wound on his arm looked like now under the bandage; wondered if his head hurt... wondered how long it would be before he saw Jim’s kind, brown eyes again. 

He sighed, withdrew his hand, and instead used it to hold his own chin as he did all he could do for Captain Kirk— which was sit, and wait, and hope to be allowed to stay long enough to speak with him again. _Preferably at length, and perhaps sober..._ But that thought went as quickly as it had come, as Luke resigned himself to the immediacy of the situation, and the lack of control he could exert over it. 

This was when someone else appeared inside of the quiet medical bay. The silence ensured that Luke noticed right away; he looked up, and saw the dark-haired alien; the second— now first— in command. Luke’s mind searched for a name, but his brain was too scattered, so he was grateful when the new commander offered, “Spock. We met yesterday evening. I came to monitor Captain Kirk’s condition, and to speak briefly with you.”

Luke offered a thin smile. “Your doctor says he’ll be fine, but he hasn’t woken up yet. I hope you don’t mind...” He trailed off as his gaze shifted back to Jim.

“You hope I don’t mind, what?”

“I— uh, I hope you don’t mind if I... well, stay with him.”

“Our ship is stranded until further notice.” The calm Vulcan looked first down upon his good friend, and then at Luke, evaluating his demeanour. “Lieutenant Scott and his crew are working quickly, however, and once they have completed their work, we must deposit you on the surface and leave.”

“I know,” said Luke somewhat nervously, “I just—“

“It is alright, Mr. Skywalker. I have already evaluated the situation, and decided that it would not be entirely illogical for you to stay at this time. I am certain that the Captain will be concerned with your whereabouts when he wakes, and if you are here when he does, it may aid in the speed of his recovery. I understand that humans are emotional creatures, even the Captain. I would prefer not to subject him to unnecessary worry in his current condition.” Spock could tell that Luke had come back here in earnest, and even if he could not trust the boy’s human emotional tendencies, he was fairly certain that he could trust his intent. There was no need, at this time, to eject him from the ship.

Luke’s body relaxed and he let out an audible sigh as Mr. Spock finished. His sky-blue eyes searched the Vulcan’s much darker ones, but came up empty. Jim’s second-in-command did not betray much, but Luke was beyond grateful to have permission to remain by the Captain’s side. “Thank you,” he said, as simply and honestly as Nurse Chapel had said the same to him. 

Mr. Spock turned his body away from Luke and put his focus for a few silent, still moments on the unconscious commander. He gave no indication of what he might have been thinking, and proceeded to expressionlessly turn and exit Sick Bay. The Captain would be back in commission soon, and hopefully so would be the Enterprise. For now, he had a Bridge to run and decisions to make— so he left his friend under the watchful eyes of the ship’s young guest, satisfied that the boy’s intentions were good.

Luke, for his part, barely moved as Spock exited— he didn’t want to be anywhere other than with Jim right now, even if the commander could not move or speak with him. With any luck, he would be able to soon, and Luke wanted very much to be here for him when he awakened— to apologize to him, to thank him, and to give in return for Jim’s affection and comfort as much of Luke’s own as the Captain could take. 

_That is, if I’m able to stay long enough._

Luke shut down his own mind; tried to quiet his thoughts, attempting an approximation of what he hoped Obi-Wan might have wanted him to do. He looked at Jim; eyes fixed on the commander’s face, until he could not keep them open anymore. Still, he sat perched in the same spot on the small stool; virtually unmoving. Any casual observer could have mistaken him for being asleep, but a closer examination revealed his concentration. 

_Just wake up. Be okay. Wake up, be okay, and talk to me. _

_I need more time— not much more, just a bit more._

_So just wake up, and be okay._

_I’m sorry._

_Please._

Luke sat this way, thinking thoughts like this, for several hours. Nurse Chapel came and went to check vitals; Dr. McCoy came with his scanning device on two occasions, and the rest of the time, Luke simply sat, waiting for Jim to wake up. He was painfully conscious of every passing moment for which they could not communicate. 

At one point, when he was sure they were alone, he planted the softest kiss he could muster on the handsome commander’s lips— part of him hoped that Jim would wake at this, but he didn’t, and so the young Jedi simply continued to wait hopefully; patiently, for the chance to thank his friend.


	7. Recovery

“Augh...” A pained groan, followed by, “Mr. Spock?” 

Luke’s eyes shot open; he still hadn’t been asleep, but he had been close. Not so close, however, that he was unable to spring quickly from his seated position on the stool at the bedside— immediately, he bent down to answer Jim, “No— just me— but I’ll go and ask for him—“

The commander tried to sit up, but realized that doing so too quickly would be unwise, and ceased the effort. He pulled open a heavy set of eyelids to see, to his surprise, Luke— looking down at him with a combination of glee, relief, and worry.

“Wait, it’s okay— Luke, what happened?” Revelation washed over his face and became tinged quickly with panic as he raised his head from the pillow, “The materials—“

Luke put his own hand over Jim’s; he didn’t think about it first. “Lieutenant Scott has them in engineering; your doctor says he’s working as quickly as he can.”

A sigh of relief, the commander’s head falling back onto the bed; then his eyes focusing back on his guest, as he said, “Thank you.”

_Thank you._ Luke hoped people would stop saying that soon. “For what, nearly getting you killed?” He tried to inject the question with humour, but it came off flat and dark. Jim’s eyes softened as it all started to come back to him— the seller, who had been from Luke’s own home planet, the angry bar owner, the angry bar owner’s friend... Yes, he remembered, they had kept the materials safe. But what had— the gun. He’d been shot. He glanced at his arm and saw the bandage. His eyes didn’t linger; they didn’t need to, as he knew that Bones had taken care of it. 

Trying to put the fight together in his mind, he shifted his hand underneath Luke’s, which tensed when it registered Jim’s movement. Not wanting to give the impression that the contact was unwanted, the Captain overturned his own hand and squeezed the comparatively delicate fingers now resting in his palm. He smiled, and answered, “No,” as he recalled the image of Luke aptly deflecting an energy blast away from him with his lightsaber— his stance, his bravery, the look on his face as he had swung his sword. “No, for everything else. I’m back with my crew, mostly unhurt. My engineer has everything he needs to get my ship back up and running.” His smile turned a bit more wry, “And, I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but the dirt on your clothes from the surface planet tells me that you haven’t left Sick Bay since we returned.”

This made Luke smile, if somewhat unevenly, and he replied simply, “It felt like forever.” Followed by a pause, then, “I... want your ship working as much as you do, really— but I was starting to be afraid they would fix it before you woke up.”

Typically always prepared with a response, this made the commander pause. After a moment wherein his eyes turned down briefly, seeming to study the bedspread, he looked back up at Luke. “I’m glad to see you, too.” He thought briefly, then added, “I’ll have to praise Mr. Spock for his good judgement,” knowing that his guest would not still be here if his second-in-command had not deemed it logical for him to stay.

“He was... nice,” said Luke, struggling to find a word to describe kindness with no discernible warmth. His back, he noticed, was starting to stiffen, being bent at the side of the bed. So, leaving his hand atop the Captain’s palm, he dropped to his knees to be closer to eye-level with him. “I’m glad he let me stay. I know it’s not that bad,” he nodded at the wound, “but it looked awful when it happened.” Then, with his eyes instead of his words, _I was scared for you. I needed to spend more time with you._

Jim seemed to understand. “I’m fine— and you don’t have to leave. Not yet.” Then, quietly in the back of mind, a thought he would be sure never to share, as he truly did not like his ship floating in this strange place, and did very much want to ensure the safety of his crew— _Don’t rush, Scotty._

In spite of his unease at their location, and the pain and memory of his recent injury, he enjoyed his guest’s company very much— and could plainly tell that the feeling was mutual. Luke wasn’t old enough not to betray his emotions, something the Captain found endearing. Since the delay was unavoidable anyway, he was not about to complain in the face of a few extra hours together with his friend, if he were fortunate enough to get them. He relaxed, and as he’d attempted before, moved his hand to entwine their fingers. No doors slid or burst open this time, and at this Jim felt relieved.

It was Luke’s turn to say, “Thank you.” His smile evened out; the young Jedi could see the commander’s features more closely now that he was perched on his knees, and it took him a few moments to realize that he did, indeed, have time to really look at the Captain. Having been drunk the night previous, and subsequently interrupted by first a crew member and then an angry business owner, it was a refreshing experience to simply stare— fully able to take in the hospitality and, indeed, the elegant handsomeness, of Jim Kirk.

There was not even a hint of awkwardness between the two men as Luke quickly lost himself in the soft brown beauty of his host’s eyes. Jim, for his part, was glad to be able to have a few quiet moments to contemplate the way Luke’s sun-kissed hair fell sweetly around his face, the look of calm admiration he was offering freely, and the bright, wide cerulean of the eyes that happened to match his weapon’s blade. The mixture of pride and affection that Luke inspired in the commander became more palpable the longer they sat looking at one another, and so he didn’t move when the younger man raised his free hand and placed it on the side of Jim’s face.

Luke ran his thumb gently over part of the bruise extending up from the Captain’s jaw, then squeezed together their still-intertwined hands. Slowly, carefully, and with an exclusive, almost Zen-like regard for the current moment, he leaned over the edge of the bed and placed his lips on those of the commander, who tilted himself to reciprocate both eagerly and skillfully. Later on, Luke would feel surprised at himself— he would think, for example, that he ought to have looked around to ensure no one was observing them— but that concern was absent from his mind as he knelt quietly beside Jim in the sparse, sterile medical bay and let their tongues dance happily.

He’d never know it, but it was to both his and the commander’s great advantage that he hadn’t been more careful in expressing his fondness: Stopped still in the doorway holding a tricorder at that point was Nurse Chapel. Although she had previously chided McCoy for speculating as to the nature of Luke and Captain Kirk’s engagement, she was not at all surprised at the display she accidentally witnessed as she entered to check the commander’s vital signs. 

Assuming that the actions of the two were evidence of the Captain’s continuing recovery, she turned to leave without disturbing them— she would find Dr. McCoy, and suggest that the commander be discharged to his quarters. Now fully aware of the trajectory that the relationship between he and his guest was taking, she also knew that the two of them had a very limited amount of time before necessity would separate them— likely forever. 

Although she was very much used to seeing him leave behind people of all kinds, the nurse was fairly well-acquainted with the fundamental nature of her commander— even the best of his decisions were often governed by what was in his heart. Being privy to what was in it now, she thought it would be neither kind nor fair to grant him anything less than respect for those feelings. Hopefully, she thought, he could also have a sense of closure as the time for his young guest to leave drew closer. 

Luke’s hand had begun to slide down Jim’s chest by the time Nurse Chapel was gone, and he was leaning almost desperately into their kiss from his position on the floor. On her way to fetch McCoy, she decided that she would advise him to cough or step, or do some other thing loudly on his entry. He would be granted the satisfaction of knowing he was correct in his earlier evaluation, and the commander and his young blonde would, perhaps, have the time to themselves that they needed to bring their connection full-circle.

Bones’ arrival would not happen for several more minutes, and in that time, Jim was able to prop himself up on the elbow of his uninjured arm to be as close as he could to Luke from his position in bed. He leaned into both the boy’s hand and face as he expertly glided his tongue over and around the soft warmth of his mouth. 

In the back of his mind, his hope that Scotty would take his time fixing the ship combined with a new, fresh one that his doctor would soon find it suitable for him to rest in his own space. He wanted very much to conclude his time together with Luke out of sight of the rest of his crew, and he guessed that the younger man felt much the same. He took his hand away from Luke’s and instead ran his fingers through golden blonde tendrils, releasing small knots and enjoying their softness as he felt his friend’s now-free hand curl up behind his neck.

They would sit this way exchanging affections until Bones entered with a heavy step, a knowing grin, and a raspy hack into his fist to, graciously, release them to the Captain’s quarters. After getting the commander carefully back on his feet and dressed enough to wander the halls with some dignity, they exited Sick Bay. This time it was Luke who, though the slightly shorter and signicantly narrower of the pair, took the brunt of his friend’s weight, putting an arm around his waist and making it just a bit easier to walk off toward the last of their time together.


	8. Connection

The sound made by the smoothly sliding doors on the Enterprise was beginning to become familiar to Luke, he realized as he entered Captain Kirk’s quarters for a second time. He smiled widely as they shut—and clicked securely. He did not remove his arm from Jim’s waist as he turned to him; instead, he wrapped his other arm around the commander as well, held him close, and looked at his face. Even in soreness and fatigue, he was so very captivating; to the young adventurer, he was starting to seem more and more handsome each time he stole a glance.

A gentle squeeze; then, “Are you feeling—?”

“I’m fine,” the Captain smiled in response, and he wasted no time at all as he leaned in to kiss his guest, wrapping him up in his arms warmly. They kissed very slowly, and with open fondness. Then, having held one another for many moments, Jim found himself craving more closeness. After having had it interrupted or delayed more than once, it was beginning to feel like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Very carefully so as not to disturb his healing arm, he slipped off the sweater that Bones had helped him put on in Sick Bay, and revealed himself once more.

Luke sighed gratefully as his eyes scanned Jim’s vast, smooth chest. As if magnetized, his hands shot to the front of the beautiful expanse; fingers trailing hungrily over warm, accepting skin, a gently protruding collar bone, and perfectly formed muscles. His entire body seemed broad and firm and with just enough give that Luke could press his fingertips into it possessively—and with no one to stop him now, he did just that, before the commander pulled away from him very slowly.

“Luke...” He looked his young blonde up and down, then placed a hand on the clasp of the belt that held his tunic tightly to his body. Jim thumbed it, and asked tactfully, “...Can I help you with this?”

“Oh— um, yes!” Luke laughed, both unintentionally and more breathily than he’d have liked, and his nose and cheeks reddened. He’d forgotten he’d have to get undressed, too, for this to work. Still grinning, he unclipped his weapon and placed it on the same small table that had held it the night before; at this, the commander brought his other hand up to the clasp and skillfully unbound his companion.

Luke felt his tunic loosen around him, and as Jim deposited the belt he’d removed beside the lightsaber, he stepped closer to finger the hem of the fabric. He gathered it in his fingers and looked at Luke desirously as he started to lift it. The younger man raised his arms to allow himself to be freed; as soon as the cool air of the room— and the keen gaze of Captain Kirk— hit his skin, he felt goosebumps spread over it. 

Jim dropped the dusty garment to the floor and a covetous, approving noise escaped him at the sight of Luke’s slight bone structure and satin skin, kissed by sun and hopelessly young. Sinewy muscles, small in size yet very adept as Jim well knew, tensed as the boy registered the depth of the Captain’s stare. Jim realized this, and reached back out with his arms to wrap them firmly around a now-bare back.

Luke placed his own arms around the commander and pressed into the embrace; his lips found a strong jaw along which to place a row of soft kisses, so he did. As Jim gasped quietly in response, Luke’s fingers slid over and curled back into warm flesh; his lips made their way back to a waiting mouth. 

As they started to kiss again, now pushing skin into skin, a faraway look flashed through Luke's eyes for just a fraction of a second, and his hands slowed. Ever perceptive, Jim touched his chin and their eyes met. "Hm?"

"Oh— it’s nothing." Luke was still smiling contentedly, but the Captain knew this wasn't entirely honest.

After brief consideration— and a quick trip in his head back to the previous night— he ventured carefully, "What was his name, again?" And then, with utmost gentleness, because he was familiar enough with the nature of the human heart to know without being told, “It's okay to miss him, you know."

A bit shocked he'd asked; that he wanted to know, but definitely not surprised that he cared, Luke responded slowly, hands still gripping Jim’s back firmly, "...Biggs." He looked straight into the Captain’s eyes; so compassionate— “And I've missed him for every second I've been alive without him. I'll—“ He paused; he'd never said this out loud in front of anyone but Biggs himself, and he was hesitant to reveal so much. "—I'll always love him." He looked down for a moment, but turned his eyes back up again quickly, and smiled broadly, "But right now, I'm— well, honestly, I’m the happiest I've been since he’s been gone. That's... what I was thinking about.”

The commander paused; stared once again into the pearly blue of Luke’s eyes, and appreciated the sheerness of his honesty; appreciated being trusted. Like his exploits in battle, these small and fuzzy details regarding the boy’s love and his loss of it only fuelled Jim’s admiration and affection. So, at Luke’s confession, he placed his whole hand on the side of the beautiful young hero’s face, smiled kindly, and said “I’m glad to be able to help.”

At this, their kiss resumed; first Jim felt Luke’s back up and down, examining every fluttering muscle and delicately protruding bone, before aptly starting to finger the waistband of his somewhat gritty leggings. 

“Mm...” Luke sighed into the commander’s mouth and moved to kiss up his jaw again as he felt a pair of strong hands begin to toy with his pants— and he was, frankly, happy to allow it. The last time he’d done this, he thought... yes, he’d been riding his speeder, with Biggs. All day. It had been just the two of them, they’d gone home, he’d undressed, and— suddenly, Luke laughed.

Jim smirked and leaned into his companion’s ear to whisper, “What’s so funny?”

Luke’s blush returned, “Oh, I’m just...” Slightly embarrassed, he forged on a bit awkwardly, “...I’m happy there’s not too much sand up here on your starship,” and he couldn’t help but let out another unsubdued giggle as he drew back to look at Jim, “Where I come from— well, it gets... _everywhere_.”

The Captain understood, and laughed back, “You won’t have to worry about sand tormenting you here,” then added as he finally reached a bit lower, “...Starship commanders, on the other hand...” and grasped Luke from behind very firmly as he nipped with contrasting lenience at the side of his neck.

Luke drew in a sharp breath and bared his own teeth back at the Captain as he was released from the bite; Jim began to walk Luke backward until the two were standing at the edge of the same bed they’d curled up on together before. 

The commander let go of his young Jedi very briefly and moved to sit down with him on the bed. The pair resumed their sentiments, until Luke was lying prone beneath the eager Captain, whose hands had worked their way into a very comfortable position and were zealously exploring every inch of what they could access as they pulled at the last of Luke’s clothes.

Luke moaned softly and bit at Jim’s ear as the two men made the most of their short stint together. They had only been acquainted for two days, the younger of the two reflected, but somehow this seemed to him as though it had been a long time coming. From the moment he’d seen Jim draw his blaster in the bar, he’d been undeniably drawn to him; had, in fact, been trying to make his way to him when he’d needed rescuing from his own strange fans.

As he leaned up and into kisses and touches of the kind he never expected to experience again so soon, if ever, he thought to himself that he was grateful to have been tugged away from that chaotic scene by just the person he’d been seeking, in more ways than he ever could have guessed. 

He felt a lightness come over him that he had not known for a long time, or what to him— at such a young age, having been through so much— felt like one. He knew that if he could do this; simply be with someone (and a brave, empathetic, captivatingly handsome commander was just perfect), it was a sign that he could move on. On, into the rest of his life; his future. 

If he could love Biggs with all his heart and still be able to let go enough to entangle himself with the beautiful Captain... well, then what couldn’t he do? 

It had, strangely, never been more obvious to him than in this moment just how very little control he had over everything in the entirety of the galaxy, with the exception of himself. He could choose anything— to love, to let go, and to love again; freely, with vigour. It was this spirit of valiance that he knew now would be key to his fighting back against the Dark forces with which he’d recently found himself in conflict.

After all, monsters like Darth Vader couldn’t get enough control. There was no honour in that; no merit. It was at this he realized that, perhaps, Obi-Wan would not have been so disappointed in his behaviour upon the U.S.S. Enterprise after all: This was the freest he’d ever felt from the confines of swirling emotions, while at the same time getting to know a sense of tenderness and safety he had so sorely missed.

With this thought, he closed his eyes gratefully and let out another contented moan as he felt Jim kiss his way downward, continuing to work all kind of magic with his hands. 

It had taken them almost no time at all to progress to this point, objectively, but to Luke Skywalker and Captain Kirk, it had felt like forever. It was for this reason that the two mingled as late into the night as they did, taking the time— for the first; indeed, only time— to come to know each other’s bodies as they had spirits over the past two days.

Jim had been surprised, and gladly, by the amount of bravery Luke had displayed for such a young person— he had clearly not had an easy time coming of age, unlike most of the young folks he noticed coming into training with Starfleet. Between his fine build, his readiness to engage in combat, and his demeanour, he gave the impression of someone possessing an exotic resilience borne of hardship— and this was one of the things that had made him virtually irresistible to his responsive host.

Shedding the last of their respective attires, they held and grasped and moved in tandem; they did this for a long time, kissing and nipping and even grappling in between, until they began to fall asleep pressed together, warm and sweaty and utterly fulfilled. 

Jim held Luke tightly, much as he had the previous night. However, instead of sadly grasping the Captain’s chest as he mourned too-recent losses, this time the young traveler smiled and nuzzled and squeezed back firmly. He was determined, somewhat audaciously, to make the most of this time that he could, and to hold it with him, too.

The commander breathed in the scent of their mutual passion, along with that of Luke’s hair— unique to him, and mesmerizing in the rawness of its allure. He was glad, he thought, to be able to make someone so very deserving so happy in this way— and he had himself come quickly to feel a near-irrational pull toward his fair, young guest. So rarely would he have persisted in chasing physical affections in the face of _this much_ strangeness and adversity... 

But Luke was something very special. The commander had always been a man with a large and accepting heart; it had gotten him hurt, and gotten him in trouble, and over the years he had learned to temper its badgering. With Luke Skywalker, however, he felt as if he did not mind so much to be troubled by his own feelings— or Luke’s, either, for that matter. 

The sweet, brave farm boy exuded an aura that made the commander want to both hold and be held by him; to talk and listen, even to spar and play. He did think, although he did not say, that it was a shame they would never get to fence effervescently against one another with brilliant blades of blazing energy... 

But, that was a step too far into his own imagining of an impossible future, so he put that thought far away from his conscious mind and focused instead on the tenderness of the current moment. He relaxed his muscles as he slid his hands over his companion languidly, and enjoyed the soft sound of the boy’s breathing as Luke settled into a sleep much more relaxed than his last.

One of his final thoughts before drifting off himself was that he was looking forward to waking with Luke; perhaps impressing him with another home-style breakfast courtesy of the replicators, or even sharing some extra time in bed together before they were both fully awake. 

He knew he’d already been spoiled by even this amount of time with his beguiling guest, and he was grateful for what he’d already had, but that did not stop him from— somewhat selfishly, somewhat not— making an utterly illogical request of the universe as his eyes pulled themselves closed: 

_Just a little more time, tomorrow. Just enough to say it properly— ‘goodbye, and good luck’, and ‘you’ll be brilliant, Luke.’ Because he will— I know he will. _

With this hope floating in the air, along with the scents of passion and contented fatigue, the two slept soundly together again. They entwined happily and relished the fullness of their excitedly anticipated connection, each more than ready to go back out into the world to face their own personal challenges. Right now, though, they were content in a safe and sensual bubble of their own unique construction. Even in their unconsciousness, they each deeply appreciated this brief peace— it was, after all, to be as rare for Luke in the future as it had been for Captain Kirk since he began his Starfleet career.


	9. Renewal

A _click_, a _clip_, a gentle tug. Luke breathed in deeply, and looked at his lightsaber, which he had just attached securely to his belt. He was still standing in Jim’s room on the U.S.S. Enterprise; he had just retrieved his weapon from the small table that had held it for him twice now. He’d dressed himself, but only after having had the Captain show him the shower facilities— it had been a lovely way to wake up, he reflected.

He scanned the room, now: the chairs, the sleek architecture— the bed, low and comfortable and set away in an alcove that Luke wanted to be sure he wouldn’t ever forget. Taking it in once more, he stretched his arms, sighed, and turned— satisfied that the memory of the commander’s quarters would not soon be lost on him.

Captain Kirk re-entered the room just at that moment, and as he did, Luke felt his breath catch: Jim had not returned to his quarters dressed in the same utilitarian uniform shirt made from thick, gold wool in which the young Force-wielder had first encountered him. Instead, he was wearing what appeared to Luke to be some variety of dress uniform (though it wasn’t, in actuality, formal: just attractive, and well-structured)— and he looked incredible.

It was in the style of a tunic; nearly like Luke’s. However, it was close to skin-tight against the Captain’s broad chest and shoulders; shorter, and followed exactly the lines of his body until coming to meet the waist of his sharp, black pants. Dusty emerald, it left less to the imagination than his usual uniform, and after coming back to his senses, Luke smirked. He strode over to his host and put one hand on a thick bicep; the other rested on that chest he’d quickly come to love to touch.

“How hard are you trying to make it for me to get out of your hair?”

“Hm?” Confused at first, the commander quickly understood, and smiled wryly back at his guest. “Oh, this. This old thing is supposed to be casual— I’m not allowed on the Bridge today, says Bones. All the better to see you off, though, don’t you think?” He put a hand on the small of Luke’s back and pulled him in closely, as he’d nearly had time to come into a habit of doing.

Luke leaned in; stole a fast kiss, squeezed that lovely arm. “Did Scotty say the ship was _completely_ repaired, or...?”

Jim laughed, “I’m afraid so— all that’s left is to put you back where you belong.”

Luke took one more very deep breath. Still smiling, “Oh well.” He stepped back from the commander; turned his head to sneak one more glance at the room. Then, he looked back to study Jim’s eyes, because he wanted to remember those more than he wanted to remember the room, the ship, or anything else in it. They were soft, but so intense; a lovely colour, like nice chocolate... or even some rich Hutt’s fresh tobacco. They contrasted sharply with his own, and he found it all too easy to get lost in them.

They betrayed both everything and nothing inside of the Captain’s heart, somehow, at the same time... even though Luke did not understand that Jim didn’t look at everybody with them quite the same way as he did his lovely blonde Jedi. They were, in a small way, like the ones with which Biggs had looked upon him, once: In a time that was seeming longer and longer ago with every passing minute.

For once— almost to his disbelief— this thought of Biggs’ eyes (and love, and memory) didn’t make him want to curl up and hide, or cry, or even slice discarded junk apart with his lightsaber, as it sometimes had. Something about seeing even the slightest glimmer of the same thing in someone else— in his brave and kind starship Captain, whom he was starting to think he’d met more by fate than chance— made him feel hopeful. He needed to feel hopeful, now, more than he ever had; he relished it. He would hang onto it for as long as he could keep it, until he no longer needed it.

In that same smooth and handsome voice that had so enraptured him outside the tavern, “Thank you, Luke.”

It was the younger of the two who laughed now, and replied, “No, thank you—“ He almost said more, but stopped. “—Just, thank you.” After that, they shared a slow, deep and passionate kiss before looking at one another for a long moment, and having the doors to the Captain’s quarters slide open for them to exit together one more time.

They walked down the hallway side-by-side; Luke had one hand on the hilt of his blade. The other he rested very comfortably between the Captain’s shoulders.

...

“Ready to go, Laddie?”

“I think I am.” Luke had just stepped into the transporter room with Jim; the two were met by Scotty, of course, but also by Mr. Spock and Doctor McCoy, to Luke’s surprise. He must have let some of it wash over his face, because the alien officer offered: 

“The doctor and myself will, indeed, depart to the bridge momentarily. However, we both believed that it would be appropriate to say goodbye to you, as the Captain’s guest, and also thank you— for returning him to us unharmed after the incident on the surface planet.” 

“Yes— I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. He was lucky to have you there. Thanks for bringing him up safely.” Bones stepped forward; put out a hand, which Luke took and shook firmly. “And watch yourself when you head back down there, too,” he added. “Doesn’t seem like a very friendly place.” 

“Oh, it’s... well, it’s pretty much what I’m used to.” Luke thought of Mos Eisley, and of the Death Star. 

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Be careful anyway.”

Luke smiled as the doctor stepped back, “I will. Thanks.”

Mr. Spock spoke up one more time, “The Doctor is right, Mr. Skywalker.” He put up his arm in his signature Vulcan salute, and said to Luke, “Live long, and prosper.”

A nod, then, “I’ll try.” He paused, and thought back to to the medical bay— back to the moment he’d known that it was Jim’s second-in-command who had allowed him to stay by the injured Captain’s side. He looked up at an inscrutable face; calm, emotionless. He ventured, “Thank you, Mr. Spock. I appreciate what you did for me.”

Spock understood; replied, “I did it for the Captain.” Before turning to leave, however, he added, “Keeping you near him was the logical thing to do at the time.”

At that, he left with McCoy, presumably for the Bridge. This left the Captain with Luke, and Scotty behind the transporter control panel. He recalled first beaming aboard; it was starting to feel, like everything else in Luke’s past, quite far away. 

After the doors slid shut behind the Doctor and the Vulcan, the commander’s young guest turned back to look at him. “So— just me this time.” He motioned to the transporter pads.

Jim nodded; returned Luke’s gaze. “Just you this time.”

Scotty remained quiet as Luke grasped the commander’s fingers in his own once more; leaned in as closely as he thought he could, and said, “I’m going to miss you, Jim.”

Hearing this, Captain Kirk surprised his Jedi for a last time— instead of using words, he wrapped Luke in a tight embrace with his free arm, squeezed his fingers back firmly with the other, and leaned in to kiss him. It was a kiss in much the same style as many of the others they’d shared during their time together— deep and yearning; unflinchingly passionate. However, this time especially, both men drew it out for as long as they could— as long as they could, anyway, without making poor Scotty flee the room red-faced.

Once they pulled apart, finally, the Captain turned to his engineer. “I’m sorry for the delay, Scotty— but I know you understand.”

The Lieutenant thought about the time he’d had to leave his lovely Mira on Memory Alpha— and yes, he very well understood. So, he smiled, “No worries, Sir. Are we ready, now?”

Addressing Scotty but keeping his gaze fixed on Luke, Jim said, “Yes— yes, I think we are.”

Luke stepped back from the commander; looked to the engineer. “Thanks— for that drink, and everything else.”

“No worries— have a good journey, Mr. Skywalker,” called Scotty as he began to set the controls. 

Luke’s eyes traveled back to Jim, and he added, “I’ll never forget you, you know.”

The commander merely continued to smile at his guest, then stepped over to the transporter pad. Luke followed; when the Captain put out a hand to help him up, he took it— and part of him truly did not want to let it go. 

This was when the commander said at last, “Goodbye, Luke— and good luck. You’re going to be incredible.”

“Goodbye, Jim. And thank you— again.”

He did let that strong hand go, though, because he knew he had to— his friends were waiting for him, and they had much to do. However, he had truly enjoyed being granted the opportunity to live for a couple of days as though he were not the hero of a great battle. As though he were not carrying a family legacy strapped to his waist; not existing as a son of immeasurable loss.

“I won’t forget you either.” It was the last thing the Captain said to Luke, and he almost didn’t say it. He did, though, and he would always be glad of his own honesty in that moment.

Luke, for his part, would always appreciate the time he got to spend being— simply— one half of the pair that made up Luke Skywalker and Jim Kirk, the unlikely starship lovers. He did not, and would never, have time to communicate to his host the ways in which he’d helped him; not fully. 

However, as he stole one last look at the commander’s benevolent brown eyes, he was just grateful to have gotten his wish; the one he had made in Sick Bay, when he wasn’t sure he would get to say goodbye to Jim at all: They’d had their time. Time to come to know one another; to be together. Not a lot of it, but enough— and enough was all either of them had asked for.

Luke could not discern if it was this thought that warmed him, or whether it was the Enterprise’s incredible transporter. Either way, as Lieutenant Scott beamed him off of the ship for what really was the final time; as Jim’s face disappeared from his view and vice-versa, he felt an energizing heat run through him. 

No, he _could_ discern— he just knew— that it was not entirely a side-effect of advanced technology. There was more to it— something that made him smile and easily blink away the tears gathering in his eyes; made him feel hopeful, and fulfilled— like he could, in fact, keep moving on. 

It made him feel, simply, happy. This was what he took with him more than anything else as he departed Jim’s world to rejoin his own.

...

“Where is he?! I know you know, you lying sack of—“

“Han! Stop it! What if he’s telling the truth?”

“Look at this guy, Leia— he doesn’t tell the truth.” Han Solo turned to Chewbacca instead, “Back me up here, Chewie— this guy won’t co-operate.”

As the large Wookie stepped forward to help his friend, the man who had sold Captain Kirk his supplies winced and pleaded. The collar of his tunic was bound up tightly in a tense hand; a blaster, while not pointing at him, was also not far from his head. “I saw him walk out with the starship Captain, and that’s it! When things began to get hectic, I left— that’s what I always do!”

Leia threw up her arms at the impasse. They had been looking for Luke since he had failed to return the morning after he’d left— he had said that he needed time to himself, but they were starting to worry. Two days was a lot of time to take when they had to be ready to leave at any moment.

Chewie roared, about to grab the merchant as well, when Luke himself strolled out from an alley; the alley beside that bar. He looked around, and registered the scene his friends were making not far off— he rushed over, confused.

The seller squirmed. “You see? See? There he is! Nothing but trouble!” Han released the large man disdainfully, then turned away, ignoring him in favour of his young, blonde friend bounding up to them; hair and weapon swaying in tandem.

“Well. Speak of the devil. Where have you _been_, kid? I thought we’d lost you. I was going to rip this guy in half just for being the last person who admitted to seeing you,” Han said as he thrust his thumb in the direction of the seller from the tavern, who was now wordlessly scurrying away; tunic and pride both badly rumpled.

Leia smiled; she’d had a feeling he was fine. “Luke. I’m glad we found you, but we have to go— whatever you were off doing, you can tell us about it back on the ship.” She motioned in the general direction of where they’d landed the Millennium Falcon and began to walk. Chewie followed her closely. Luke and Han each paused for a moment, then began to follow several paces behind Leia and the Wookie, walking side-by-side.

“So, kid— where did you actually go?”

Luke smiled broadly; the same pink tinge that had touched his face in Jim’s quarters came over his cheeks again now. He continued to look ahead as he answered, “Nothing.” He stayed silent for a moment; then, “I made a friend.”

Han looked down at Luke; raised an eyebrow. “What kind of friend?”

Luke almost sighed; kept on smiling and looking forward. “A starship captain friend.”

“Pfft.” Han rolled his eyes, and placed a firm arm around the boy. He squeezed and said, “Starship captains are scummy, you know. You gotta watch yourself around those guys.”

Luke looked up just in time to catch Han’s winking grin. He laughed, leaned into his friend just a little bit, and walked off with him to the Falcon— and to new adventures. 

He felt more ready for them than he ever had before.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s finished! I did it! This is my favourite work, out of everything I’ve posted here. It’s my beautiful baby. This pair means as much to me as they do to each other, and I hope that if you’re reading this note, you understand why.
> 
> Thank you to anyone and everyone who stuck with me through this. It really, really means more than I can say.
> 
> xoxoxoxo


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